Tell the World That I'm Coming Home
by SplatDragon
Summary: MAJOR SPOILERS. Arthur was so tired, but he couldn't sleep. All he could do was listen to the murmurings of the ghosts. Also known as: Let the rain wash away all the pain from yesterday / I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes / I'm coming home, I'm coming home / Tell the world that I'm coming, home


He was so tired.

His eyelids felt as thought there were weights attached to them, and he struggled to keep them open. Arthur wanted nothing more than to sleep, to close his eyes and to pass into oblivion. But he was a fighter, had always been, and he had come up onto the mountain to kill Micah. And Micah wasn't yet dead.

Yet Arthur was hurt. Blood sprayed from his lips with each breath, air crackling in his chest. A heavy weight pressed him into the ground, and each feeble attempt to rise left him sobbing of the pain.

He tried, again, fingers twitching on the ground as his arms spasmed, torso only getting an inch or so off the ground before he collapsed again with a wail of agony.

But still, he refused to die. His eyes remained stubbornly open, taking in the slowly rising sun. And oh, wasn't it beautiful? Something in him loosened, and he remembered watching the sunrise with Dutch and Hosea and John when his brother had been younger and they had gotten along well.

_"Come on, Arthur, let's go! You won't feel so old any more, you know that right?"_

Lenny chuckled in his ear, and for the briefest of seconds the sun was hidden by dark skin. But then Lenny was gone - he was hallucinating, surely, a trick of the mind brought on by bloodloss.

But that sounded _so good_. No longer being trapped in an old and broken body? No longer being sick and weary, constantly feeling the aches and pains of old wounds that had never quite healed right? That sounded like paradise.

His fingers twitched, and he sank into the ground, as though relaxing into a plush bed at one of the Saint Denis hotels. Twigs and stones dug into his back, but he either couldn't feel them, or didn't care. But still, his eyes remained stubbornly open, and he forced himself to breathe. _'Micah,' _he thought desperately, _'Micah is still alive.' _and he'd be damned if he didn't kill the rat.

_"Hey English, hurry up! There's lots of whisky here, you'll love it!"_

Sean. The Irishman's copper hair blended with the flaming colors of the rising sun for the brief moment that he could see him, although he'd recognize that voice anywhere. Could you get drunk, wherever he was going? South, for certain.

Poor Sean, he thought. Poor Lenny. At least they hadn't had a chance to suffer, likely didn't even know what had happened to them, unlike poor Hosea, poor Susan, poor Kieran.

_"Boadicea's waitin' for ya, Mister Morgan. Archimedes, too. So's yer dog."_

Speak of the devil. Kieran showed himself for only a moment, and Arthur was glad to see him healthy and whole. Blue eyes were in their sockets, head at the end of his neck where it belonged. But the man was gone as quickly as he had come, not lingering as Sean and Lenny had.

Poor Boadicea, he missed her. He hoped that she and Archimedes got along - they both had had such fiery temperaments. Archimedes had fought until her last breath, and he had held her until she had breathed her last. And oh, Copper, he had been a good dog. Surely he and them got along well. If Kieran was there, they were all happy.

He sighed, blinking slowly as he watched the sun rise. Birds began to chirp and sing, animals waking from their slumber and beginning their days. To the Van Der Linde Gang, it was the worst day of their lives. To those animals, to everyone else, it was just another day.

The bird song was soothing, and he fought to stay awake as it lulled him. He was _so tired_, surely just a little nap? But no, he knew if he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.

_"It's okay, Son. You can rest now. You've done well."_

Hosea? Where was he? Arthur looked around frantically, seeking a man that was no longer there. For a moment, he thought he saw weathered, wrinkled skin and a blue shirt in the corner of his eye, but a weak tilt of his head and the apparition was gone.

And that was right, wasn't it? Hosea was gone, shot dead in front of him. And yet, and yet, he had heard him, had felt his hand on his shoulder, soothing him as he always did when he was sick or hurt,

and Arthur slept.


End file.
